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A few corrections of later date have been added. -Henceforward the author must be occupied
by studies of a very different kind.
Ite hinc, CAMONE! Vos quoque ite, suaves,
VIRGIL. Catalect. vii.
At the request of the friends of my youth, who still remain my friends, and who were pleased with the wildness of the compositions, I have added two school-boy poemswith a song modernized with some additions from one of our elder poets. Surely, malice itself will scarcely attribute their insertion to any other motive, than the wish to keep alive the recollections from early life.--I scarcely knew what title I should prefix to the first. By imaginary Time, I meant the state of a school boy's mind when on his return to school he projects his being in his day dreams, and lives in his next holidays, six months hence: and this I contrasted with real Time.
REAL AND IMAGINARY,
On the wide level of a mountain's head,
(I knew not where, but 'twas some faery place) Their pinions, ostrich-like for sails outspread, Two lovely children run an endless race,
A sister and a brother!
This far outstript the other;
Yet ever runs she with reverted face,
And looks and listens for the boy behind:
For he, alas! is blind!
O'er rough and smooth, with even step he pass'd,
And knows not whether he be first or last,
A Christmas Tale, told by a School-boy to his little Brothers and Sisters.
Underneath a huge oak tree
There was, of swine, a huge company,
Then they trotted away, for the wind grew high:
He belonged, it was said, to the witch Melancholy!
Flew low in the rain, and his feathers not wet.
He pick'd up the acorn and buried it strait
By the side of a river both deep and great.
He went high and low,
Over hill, over dale, did the black raven go,
Many autumns, many springs
I can't tell half his adventures.
At length he came back, and with him a she,
At length be brought down the poor raven's own oak. His young ones were kill'd: for they could not depart, And their mother did die of a broken heart.
The boughs from the trunk the woodman did sever— And they floated it down on the course of tne river.
Seventeen or eighteen years ago, an artist of some celebrity was so pleased with this doggerel, that he amused himself with the thought of making a Child's Picture Book of it; but he could not hit on a picture for these four lines. I suggested a round-about with four seats, and the four seasons, as children, with Time for the shew-man.